


A Song Complete

by olehistorian



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 00:19:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4200660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olehistorian/pseuds/olehistorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs. Hughes reflects on poetry of the heart. A one-shot placed in Series 6. This is a companion piece and a prequel to "Sleepless." Based on the prompt: "Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet." ― Plato</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Song Complete

"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet." ― Plato

* * *

 

Her head resting in the hollow curve where his shoulder and collarbone meet, his hand presses against her back, pulling her closer. Her fingers dance over his bare chest, tracing across but one of her new discoveries, a sparse patch of coarse, graying hair. Her lips tug into a contented smile as she hazards a glance up to him to find his eyes closed, a pleased look of satisfaction playing across his handsome face.

Her fingers trace up his chest, over strong collarbones and up the fleshy column of his neck. As she smoothes her hand across his cheek, she feels his hand grip her hip as he turns her toward him just a little more. Her fingers play over his brow and he whispers her name. She traces down his nose and to his lips. She feels his right hand reach up, gently take her wrist, his lips part and he kisses the tips of her fingers before gently replacing her hand on his chest. She snuggles into him, her mountain of a man, strong and solid, soft and gentle all in equal measure.

She takes in a deep, cleansing breath and her eyes close as the muscles of her face melt into peaceful contentment. The soft flesh of his chest burns hot against her hand and his steady heart thrums in time against her fingers. She thinks that of all of the poetry she has ever read, Shakespeare's sonnets, Rosetti's verse, and the endless prose of Austen and Bronte, nothing compares to the poetry they have etched on each other's hearts this night. The gentle choruses of adoration, affectionate words whispered in warm breaths; confessions of love and longing long cloaked in rules and propriety finally brought to light, pressed against flushed flesh and hungry lips. She revels at the beautiful refrain of nimble fingers tracing across bodies, finally bringing them together after years of being side by side. She thinks of being in agreement in mind and now in soul and body, how melody and harmony complete one another. She had once teased him, saying that the poets should've come to him for platitudes on life, but now she thinks again of those words spoken long ago. For the poetry that they have written this night is sweeter, richer, more beautiful than any poet has ever put to verse.


End file.
